


Blue Paint

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Gen, John Is So Done, Parent John Watson, Parentlock, but secretly amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 05:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13517742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Paint bombs!” Chirps a happy voice from the floor. Bombs? John raises a disbelieving eyebrow at the babysitter, who’s making shushing motions to his partner in crime.“Perfectly safe?”A short Parentlock fic that I don't remember writing two years ago.





	Blue Paint

**Author's Note:**

> empathyblues: A little something I found in my docs from years ago. Written as pre-s04e01 but could also be post s04.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Innocent blue eyes – four of them! – flash up to focus on John. They’re not the only blue he’s facing: blue coats, blue fingers, blue faces, blue hair… John can’t see any hint of skin underneath the thick layers of blue. He turns to the elder of the pair (although sometimes John thinks he has the mind of a two year old!) and glares sternly. He’d been using this look a lot recently. The result of allowing Sherlock to influence his daughter for so long.

“I asked you to keep her occupied, not turn her into a- a smurf!” Sherlock’s face is comical: it’s both confused and bright cerulean. The confusion is obviously a result of John’s culture reference. The doctor wisely waves it off before he can be questioned and turns to observe the two year old grinning up at him with cyan teeth. _That had better not be toxic._ With Sherlock, it’s always a danger but despite John’s supposed disapproval, there’s actually no one else he’d trust more with the safety of his only child. He’s trusted Sherlock with his own life many times.

That doesn’t mean he’s getting off easy though.

“Want to explain? I mean, seriously, it’s even in her mouth!”

Sherlock hold up his hand is a calming gesture.

“It’s fine John. The paint is a homemade recipe, completely safe for consumption…even if it’s not _primarily_ designed for eating.” He adds as an afterthought. John scoffs. “You told me to do something creative with her! This is what she wanted! I can hardly be blamed for complying with a happy child’s wishes. And she was smiling the whole time. Hence the paint in her mouth.”  

_So it’s the toddlers fault then is it Sherlock?_

Despite, his stern looks John is finding it harder and harder not to laugh at the situation.

“And I suppose you used yourselves as paintbrushes?” He sighs. “I don’t understand how you managed to make such a mess.”

“Paint bombs!” Chirps a happy voice from the floor. _Bombs?_ John raises a disbelieving eyebrow at the babysitter, who’s making shushing motions to his partner in crime.

“Perfectly safe?”

Sherlock looks like a kid who’s been caught sneaking biscuits out of the tin. The smile he gives doesn’t look completely confident, although he assures in a low voice:

“You know I’d never allow her to get hurt, John."

It is true. And he was never going to hold a grudge for it; it was simply the father in him feeling the need to fully assess what goes on when he’s not watching. But he trusts Sherlock.

He sighs tiredly and drops the subject.

“Come on then, you maniac. Time for a bath before bed.” The pair of them jump up and begin to follow obediently. At this, John gives a fond - but exasperated - huff and rolls his eyes.

“I meant Rosie, Sherlock.” He clarifies, “You’re old enough to bathe yourself, I think.” His voice is teasing. Sherlock looks a little put out and slumps in the nearby armchair – John’s unfortunately – pouting. It has its intended effect, as John picks Rosie up and carries her over to him. “Say goodnight to Sherlock, Rosie.”

As he lowers her down onto Sherlock’s lap, Rosie throws her weight forward and plants a wet kiss on his forehead. “Na-night.” Her pudgy hands spread as far apart as they can reach and Sherlock’s smile returns, enveloping the child in a gentle embrace before handing her back to John.

When John returns, slightly damp, with Watson junior in tow, Sherlock has disappeared from the chair. The only evidence of his presence is a still-wet, blue puddle steadily dripping off the seat. 

**Author's Note:**

> The only edit I made to this since finding it was to change Rosie's name to canon (I had been calling her Charlie before s4) but if I've made any glaring gramattical errors I'll happily correct them.


End file.
